
Class I 

Book.., 



Copyright W. 



o lQ K 



CDEffilGHT DEPOSm 



VACATION DAYS 



A SKETCH BOOK 



BY 



NINA BELL 




BOSTON 

THE POET LORE COMPANY 

THE GORHAM PRESS 






Copyright, 1918, by Nina Bell 

All Rights Reserved Nl < 



Made in the United State9 of America 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



JUL 2b 1318 
©CU501260 






*/••» ** 



TO 
THE FRIENDS OF MY YOUTH 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The First Day of Spring 9 

A Schoolgirl Experience 10 

MlLANGELINE 14 

Nightfall 15 

An Evening Experience 16 

Country Lullaby 17 

Nightfall in the Mountains . . . . 18 

Sunrise and Sunset 19 

Indian's Meditation 22 

Exploring the Twin Sisters 24 

The Mournful Cynic 32 

Remarks on Novelty 33 

Two Dreams 36 

The Parting 37 

Last Night and This Morning .... 38 

Memories 39 

Roman Literature : An Appreciation . . 40 

Inspired By — You 50 

Pictures 51 

5 



6 Contents 



PAGE 



To the Gallant Oarsman 53 

The Course of the Years 55 

A Wayside Incident 57 

Helen 59 

Lethe 60 

An Autumn Fancy 61 



VACATION DAYS 



VACATION DAYS 

A SKETCH BOOK 



THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING 

You may look 'mid yon gay crowded throng 
Where the jest and the laugh pass around, 
WRere cares are lost in the dance and the song, 
But my thoughts are not there. 

My pleasant task lies near, forgot. 

What means this strange unrest? 

What once delight, indifference now hath brought; 

For my thoughts are not there. 

Some talk of trouble, and its bitter toll. 

'Tis true my share has not been light, 

For oft hath sorrow laid her burning hand upon 

my soul. 
Yet my thoughts are not there. 

Above yon far-off mountain line, 
Where the tinted clouds are piled softest, 
Where the warm spring breeze basks in the sun- 
shine, 
Find my thoughts, as I've found yours there. 

9 



io Vacation Days 



A SCHOOLGIRL EXPERIENCE 

Spring has been known from time immemorial 
as the season of day-dreaming, and for a general 
listlessness which puts hard work out of the ques- 
tion. The Germans have a word, "Infaulenzia," 
a modified form of "influenza," to express the cer- 
tain feeling of indolence characteristic of this sea- 
son. 

Especially at this spring season of the year do I 
find that all work is disagreeable, and particularly, 
the task of writing themes. Sometimes I find it is 
the easiest thing in the world to write a theme, 
and then again there seems nothing more difficult 
to do. The first feeling generally comes in winter, 
the latter in spring. Whether this is an experi- 
ence common to all, I do not know; but I find, 
to my sorrow that it often holds true in my own 
case. It is said that no one has thoughts and feel- 
ings which have not, at some time, occurred to some 
one else, so I suppose there is some one who can 
understand this feeling. It is said, too, that the 
spring season of the year produces more poets and 
writers than any other season; but I find it often 
stops my pen. 

To show you just how badly off I am when I 
try to write a theme in spring, I will tell you the 
general process I go through. First, I follow out 
the rule of exposition, and collect the materials 
which are to be used. I sit down, pen in hand, with 
a blank sheet of paper before me, and begin to think. 



Vacation Days II 



What shall I write about? What subject shall I 
choose? I look around the room for an inspira- 
tion, and my eye falls on a book labeled Organic 
Chemistry. This is unfortunate, for the mere men- 
tion of the word "chemistry" always puts me in an 
unpleasant humor. I have a reason for feeling so. 
With that book near me, it is certain that my sheet 
of paper will remain blank, so I decide to seek some 
other atmosphere. I should have known enough 
to do this before; for one can't write a spring theme 
indoors. I sit down on the porch steps and pro- 
ceed to go about my task naturally, and to let Na- 
ture have control of my thoughts. I wait patiently 
for an inspiration, looking lazily at the hills and the 
blue sky in the distance. 

If any one wants to know a stimulant for day- 
dreaming, I can safely recommend this habit of 
looking away into the distance. At such a distance 
everything is unreal and fantastic, and you can look 
into depths you can never fathom, but always you 
find a thought to dream about. I learned all this 
long ago, and as daydreaming is not conducive to 
study, I resolutely bring my thoughts back to earth. 
So far Nature has given me no promptings. 

How beautiful and fresh everything is at this 
time of the year! The whole earth is green, and 
cool, and the leaves are just putting forth their 
foliage to add to the color scheme. How refresh- 
ing their shade will be a little later in the season, 
and how delightful it will be when the brilliancy 
of the flowers contrast with the scene. This re- 
minds me of my roses. I can see them from where I 



12 Vacation Days 



am sitting. They are leafing out beautifully. I 
try to imagine what they will look like when they 
bloom. At my right is an American Beauty, which 
will blossom this year for the first time. At my 
left is a lovely white rose, and there are others 
which I cannot see from here. How exquisitely 
beautiful are these flowers! What flower can equal 
the rose in delicacy of color, or in fragrance. Ah! 
Nature has at last come to my aid. I will write 
about "Roses." 

"Every one has his favorite flower ,\ and mine is 
the rose. Other flowers may be more pretending, 
others may be more charming in their modesty, but 
for me, the rose is fairest of all." This is the way I 
begin. Then I stop. That beginning doesn't seem 
just right. It sounds too much like a spring poet de- 
scribing his lady love. It won't do to get poetical, 
so I try to be more practical. This seems to work 
better, for in a few minutes I have another impres- 
sion. This is the way my thoughts run this time: 
"Horticulture is not supposed to be a course for 
girls, but there are parts of it which I think would 
interest every girl." Now I am getting along fam- 
ously. "The care of an orchard is not apt to appeal 
to a girl, but the culture of flowers is sure to have 
some attraction for her." Just here I am inter- 
rupted by the mailman. This means that it must 
be getting late. I look at the clock and find that 
it is almost noon. I must hurry up this theme, for 
I have several other hard lessons to get. 

If it hadn't been for the mailman, I would prob- 
ably have got along all right this time, but after 



Vacation Days 13 



reading the letter he brought me, I have no sym- 
pathy for horticulture. Something seems to be the 
matter with me this morning. I don't seem to be 
in the mood for theme writing. I finally give up 
in despair, and go into the house with my thoughts 
on divinity fudge. Divinity fudge is pretty sure 
to sweeten my temper. I carefully measure out the 
ingredients and am about to put them on the stove, 
when I discover that the fire is out. However, no 
obstacle is too great in such an important project 
so the fire is soon rekindled. Then I return to the 
process of candy-making, when a sudden thought 
comes to my mind! Why not write a theme about 
writing a theme, and simply relate my morning ex- 
perience? Facts, after all, are the only things to 
be depended upon. Before facts all things must 
give way, even divinity fudge. With a sigh for my 
disappointed hopes, and a regretful glance at the 
potential fudge, I resolutely turn my philosophical 
mind toward facts and write. 



14 Vacation Days 



MILANGELINE 

This is the village of Milan. 

Row upon row of dwellings, 

Rude, uncouth, and unpainted, 

Lie scattered along the valley; 

Lie on the banks of the Little Spokane, 

Where it tumbles in foam o'er the mill-dam. 

High above are the lofty N mountains, 

That shorten the morn and the eve, 

Concealing the blush of the dawning, 

And the dying glow of the West. 

Stately, erect, and unmoved, 

Stand the pines of the fast thinning forest. 

Steadily turns the mill wheel as ever, 

Curls from a few chimneys the smoke, 

But the noisy rush of the torrent 

Is subdued by the passing train. 



Vacation Days 15 



NIGHTFALL 

Sunset and dying West. 

From far the pall of leaden darkness drops its mel- 
ancholy hue, 
The understanding stars their weary task renew, 
And comes mine own unrest. 

Amid the glare of day, 

Whose glamor stills the eating care of many an ach- 
ing heart, 
Or jostled in the rushing stream of human mart, 
A restful calm holds sway. 

If in the busy round 

A vacant moment comes in life's absorbing grind, 

When thoughts of self, unbidden guests, invade the 

mind, 
Fancies such as now abound. 

And now at last the night. 

No longer may forgetfulness, sweet balm, be close 

enticed, 
But flees as flees the blush on yonder mountain 

height. 
Oh, hasten not thy flight. 

Ah! patient stars aglow, 

Whence comes the cloud without a wind, the grief 

without a cause? 
On high thy ceaseless, heavenly messegry pause, 
And shine on me below. 



1 6 Vacation Days 



AN EVENING EXPERIENCE 

Just as the darkness of the night was following 
the dusk, one Halloween evening, I was walking 
home, feeling all the time some supernatural ele- 
ment in the air. Suddenly, without any warning, 
as I passed through a lonely street, I saw a figure 
clad in white creep through a gap in the hedge. 
The mysterious personage N crouched among the 
shadows, listened a moment, then stood erect. It 
was then that I saw, though dimly, a large, round 
something carried carefully under his arm. 

This strange procedure provoking my curiosity, 
I remained concealed on my own side of the street 
to await developments. My patience was rewarded, 
for in a few minutes I saw another similarly clad 
figure emerging from the darkness, and creeping 
stealthily along the hedge. He, too, had the same 
mysterious bundle in his arms which, in this case, 
was so large as almost to overbalance its small 
bearer. As I waited, wondering, another shadowy 
form appeared, then another, and another, until I 
counted a group of ten. One, the tallest, seemed 
to be the leader, and appeared to be giving direc- 
tions to his fellow imps. Finally, at his signal, 
each follower produced his bundle, and when I 
looked again, ten lighted jack-o-lanterns were grin- 
ning at me through toothless mouths. Then, fol- 
lowed by his comrades, the ghost-like leader ran 
swiftly down the street, and vanished in the dark- 
ness, leaving me to wonder if I had been dreaming, 
or if these unearthly forms had emerged from the 
pages of some old fairy book. 



Vacation Days 17 



COUNTRY LULLABY 

Twilight falls o'er the summer lea, 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 
The waves lap low on the deep blue sea, 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 
The breezes waft home the birds to the nest, 
Softly the gay flowers sink to their rest; 
Homeward the farmer turns his way, 
Homeward turns at the end of day. 

Sleep, my baby, sleep. 

Heed not the voice of the lonely wind, 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Fear not the touch of the darkness so blind, 
Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Sleep, for the last ray dies in the west. 

Rest, rest secure in thy feathery nest, 

Angel wings hover and guard from above. 

Peaceful and sweet may thy slumbers be. 

Soft ! — Thy father comes to thee. 

Sleep, my baby, sleep. 



1 8 Vacation Days 



NIGHTFALL IN THE MOUNTAINS 

The shadows deepen. 

Hush! The night is on. 

The distant tinkling chime of cowbells 

As the scattered herd come wandering home, 

Now grows faint and fainter, still, 

Like the dying notes of a chord just struck. 

Far up the glen one lone night bird 

Startles the echoes with his dismal note, 

Then silence stills him too. 

Naught is heard but the solemn swell 

Of the mighty forest's respiration. 

Slowly the little campfire dies, 

Hedged in closely by the shades of night, 

Till the last flickering ember succumbs to sleep. 

Enough ! My musings likewise end. 

I rise and join my sleeping mates. 



Vacation Days 19 



SUNRISE AND SUNSET 

A young man was about to leave his native town. 
Eager as he was to begin the work which was to 
claim his life, there was an underlying feeling of 
sadness at the thought of leaving home associations 
and friends, some of whom were very dear. It was 
partly due to this half-recognized feeling of home- 
sickness, and partly to a notion that last things 
are sacred, that he had risen early this morning 
to take a last survey from the lookout hill. 

The wind blew cold, and there was a suggestion 
of rain in the air, as the young man walked on 
briskly up the avenue of trees. As a drop of rain 
fell on his face he frowned up at the clouded sky 
in vexation that his last morning should be a gloomy 
one. It was very early, and a trace of darkness 
still remained. Everything around seemed to be 
asleep, and the rustling in the trees was very faint, 
now that the wind had died down. There was noth- 
ing to keep him company save his own thoughts, and 
these were not altogether cheerful. Heretofore the 
time had been too fully taken up to allow any 
dwelling upon uncertainties or possible failures ; and 
any vague fear which may have presented itself was 
lost amid the congratulations of admiring classmates. 
Now, however, these considerations began to make 
him uncomfortable. 

A sudden chirrup from a robin broke in upon this 
despondency, and looking up, the young man saw 
that the sky, before dark and forbidding, was be- 



20 Vacation Days 



ginning to take on the color of the dawn. From 
cloud to cloud the delicate rose tints spread, and as 
the beauty grew the watcher's face lighted up in- 
voluntarily. He quickened his step and in another 
moment reached the top of the last hill, then started 
back at the sight before him. Just above the hori- 
zon's line was drawn a blazing stretch of fire, so 
sudden and brilliant in its beauty as to be startling. 
Far-away mountain-peaks stood out in sharp relief 
against this background, and the shadows on the 
nearest mountainside were still black. Gradually 
the radiance grew stronger and brighter, and the sun 
rose. The mountains were seen more clearly. The 
shadows changed to violet, and the eastern clouds 
were edged with gold. Turning, the man saw be- 
low him the town still asleep, and in shade. Then, 
all at once, the sun touched the highest hills around 
it, driving the shadows down into the valley, and 
last, the church towers were bathed for a moment in 
light. A moment thus, then all was again gray. 
The sun had passed behind the curtain of clouds, 
and was seen no more that day. The young man 
stood gazing a little longer, his shoulders uncon- 
sciously squared as he at length turned to give a 
parting glance toward the east. Then, with firm 
step, he descended into the valley, and if it was 
raining, he did not know it. 

It was the day called homecoming day at the old 
academy, many years afterward. Most of the guests 
who had been wandering over the grounds during 
the day, gathered in reminiscent groups as evening 
drew near. Only a few remained upon the lookout 



Vacation Days 21 



hill. One by one these withdrew, until at last only 
one old man was left. He sat on an old bench 
under the trees, leaning his hands upon his cane, 
silently watching the western sky, where the burn- 
ing clouds were piled high. Curious inquirers were 
told he was an early graduate of the academy, but 
at mention of his name, no one showed signs of 
recognition. He had not gained fame. The man 
himself had the appearance of one who has achieved 
some measure of success; yet his face was deeply 
furrowed, and his shoulders were slightly stooped. 
The sun sank, and still he sat there musing. The 
red left the clouds and faded into gray. Twilight 
deepened into night, and the stars began to come out. 
Finally the old man rose, and as he stood for a mo- 
ment in the night with uncovered head, one might 
have heard him sigh softly. Then he smiled. And 
he, too, turned to depart. What were his emotions ? 
If you had asked him, he could hardly have told 
you. 



22 Vacation Days 



INDIAN'S MEDITATION 

Far o'er his western trail blazes the sun in the burn- 
ing sky, 
Pants in his chase for Snoqualmie, the Moon — . 

Fruitless haste! 
Now wearily, like an old man, sinks down the last 

waste, 
Hangs o'er the Land of the Setting Sun, o'er Allahi 

Alki, 

Land of the Bye and Bye. 
Thither have gone all my fathers before me, 
Fathers and young men, the happy, the lonely — 
Oft hath the death chant's wail risen wierdly 
O'er friends of the deer hunt, when we rose ere the 

dawn, 
O'er comrade and brother, child, squaw — all I have 

known, 
Departed forever from the Land of the Now; 

gone — 

Whither gone? 

Bent down with the weight of many moons, play- 
thing of sorrow, 

High on a broken ledge of the mountain, I sit. 

The young men rest below where the fires are lit ; 

They roll in their blankets with thoughts of to- 
morrow, 

Below the death mountain. 

Unfit for the trail, for war, council plan, 

A life ending useless as when it began, 



Vacation Days 23 



I wait for the call that comes to the old man, 
Cannot escape it — Tahmahnawis made it so. 
From the blue mists that grope and creep up from 

below, 
That deepen and darken each moment, I turn and 

go- 
Whither go? 

One last pale gleam from the dying west lingers 

near me; 
It hunts for a soul to carry home. Above from the 

mountain-top 
Howls the night hunter. Below from the darkness 

a cry is sent up — 
The night owl; sounds like the voice of the dead 

in Stickee, 

Land of the Shadows. 
The wind strikes chill through the gathered blanket ; 
Shades from above and below are just met. 
What is it I hear from the far mountain's summit? 
The voices of lost ones come borne on the echo, — 
Thicken round me ; the spirits of dead forgot long 

ago 
Beckon and call through the mists. — And the winds 

still blow, 

As I, too, go. 



24 Vacation Days 



EXPLORING THE TWIN SISTERS 

Through a week of rainy or dubious weather 
the wooded peaks of the Twin Sisters held out al- 
luring prospects of adventure and discovery. At 
early morn the sun, if it chanced to break through 
the clouds for a moment, sent down its rays reas- 
suringly, and high up near the summit a tiny cabin 
half emerged from the shadows. As the night mists 
went scurrying farther down into the valleys, 
glimpses appeared of what seemed to be a winding 
road; but while the onlooker eagerly awaited fur- 
ther revelations, the heavy clouds invariably closed 
upon the scene, the sunbeams fled, and a steady 
gloom obscured what had already been revealed. 
Thus the time had passed, a week of rainy tramps 
and wood excursions, while ever the serene Sisters 
alternately smiled and frowned above the camp, 
tempting, yet unattainable. 

It was little wonder, then, that when the eighth 
morning turned out to be a real June morning, with 
the sun shining down from a cloudless sky, the whole 
camp of girls unanimously decided in favor of moun- 
tain climbing. A young mountaineer was procured 
as a guide, and all other necessary arrangements 
were made. Jack, the guide, had given out the in- 
formation that the distance to the summit was two 
miles, so that the trip up and back could easily be 
made during the afternoon. Indeed, it was not until 
early afternoon that the drenched undergrowth was 
considered sufficiently dry for travel; but at last 



Vacation Days 25 



camp was closed, and the party of nine set out. 
An unexpected addition to the company arrived at 
the last minute, a queer sort of young man from the 
neighboring sawmill, who had been lingering about 
camp for several days past, and of whom we shall 
hear more later. 

The hilarious crowd of girls and their chaperon, 
with the two bringing up the rear, took their way 
first along a well-travelled road, but soon left this 
for a dim trail leading almost straight up the moun- 
tain side. This was the shortest route, according to 
the native youths, but not necessarily therefore the 
quickest one, as was eventually discovered. A sus- 
picious person might have questioned at the time, 
the whispered conversations of the guides, and their 
ill-concealed laughter. As it was, their behavior 
was attributed to the general crudeness of a moun- 
taineer's nature, and so passed remark, for the time 
being. 

The climb was indeed full of interest and charm, 
and the fragrance of the rain-scented air added zest. 
The steepness of the ascent gave excuse for fre- 
quent pauses, and opportunities for observation. 
First was the old log road, where piles of logs, 
cut down the previous winter, were waiting to be 
hauled away. Soon the traces of the loggers were 
left behind, and an old road, now bedded with moss 
and grass, was the only means of travel. On each 
side the impenetrable evergreens crowded close, in 
some places almost meeting overhead. All that 
could be seen was the clear blue of the sky above, 
and the closely hedged-in pathway. Presently the 



26 Vacation Days 



course changed, and circled about the mountain, 
following its curved contours closely; now passing 
below a great boulder half hidden by trailing vines, 
at whose base a little spring of crystal water awaited 
the passer-by; again turning sharply upward and 
passing through dark and fearsome aisles of trees 
before it emerged into the sunlight once more. 

Nothing was more noticeable to the unaccus- 
tomed ear than the utter solitude of the place. 
There was no shrieking of motors, nor rumble of 
cars, no noise of street traffic, no newsboys' cries — 
no sound save the voices of the party, the rare cry 
of a bird, the soft yet audible breathing of the 
mighty forest. 

Up to this time, interest had centered upon the 
details of the march. The botanists of the group 
disputed over the classification of the flowering veg- 
etation, of which there was a great variety. The 
discovery of a bed of ripe strawberries, small to 
be sure, but like drops of concentrated sweetness, 
caused a merry scramble. Once a long white feath- 
er floated down from a bird passing high above. A 
sudden turn of the road upward soon put an end 
to such observations, however, and all energy was 
put forward to make the long steep climb. 

Some hours had already passed by and the phys- 
ical strain was beginning to be felt, but it was 
not until this last ascent was attempted that any 
complaint was voiced. Many pauses were made, 
and the high spirits which were at first evidenced, 
seemed to have disappeared. But when at length, 
the top of the ascent was reached, all weariness was 



Vacation Days 27 



forgotten in a new attraction. The road here merged 
into a small clearing far up on the mountain, a sort 
of plateau, whence a view was had of the country 
for miles around. 

No one, who has not stood and gazed thus from 
the heights of the western pine-hills, can sense the 
grandeur of such an outlook. The vast extent of 
vision, startling at any time, was all the more so 
to those who had but lately been hemmed in so 
closely, and the sudden revelation was thrilling in 
the extreme. Before them, far as the eye could 
reach, lay wooded valleys and blue-green hills, 
range upon range of them, growing fainter and 
more indistinct as the distance increased, until finally 
all, merged into a hazy blue maze, met and mingled 
with the horizon. In the foreground lay two or 
three of the nearest towns, scarcely to be de- 
tected, nestled as they were, in the midst of the 
forest. 

From this time on, the aspect of the way changed. 
Sometimes the same dim trail led along the moun- 
tain-side above a sheer drop of a hundred feet or 
more into the valley below. The covering of firs, 
which generally prevailed, was deceptive, giving 
to the mountain below the appearance of a more 
or less gentle slope, whereas the real nature of 
the incline was revealed only where the undergrowth 
was absent, and the earth in all its steepness was 
laid bare. The vegetation in most places was 
plentiful, and interesting as ever, but now the at- 
tention was drawn elsewhere, for always was the 
open view, the far vision, giving that exhilaration 



28 Vacation Days 



of the spirits which only the mountain-climber ex- 
periences. 

Time is forgotten in pleasure; but that does not 
stop the sun in his course. Presently some one 
noticed that the sunlight was not warm any longer, 
and there was a faint foreboding of twilight in the 
air that caused a general alarm. A speedy return 
was counseled by the chaperon, but all were un- 
willing to descend, so long as the mountain top 
still loomed above. The guides, too, who never 
seemed to weary, urged the ascent, asserting that 
only a little distance remained, and holding out a 
promise of a gold mine which could be inspected 
by the way. 

By this time, however, suspicious looks began to 
be directed toward the guides. Their manner had 
been peculiar from the first, it was recalled. Sam, 
especially, frequently burst out into uncontrolled 
laughter, at which his companion, with suspicious 
gravity, would ask, "What tickles ye so, Sam, any- 
way?" Their eagerness to continue the climb 
seemed a trifle too apparent, and any suggestion of 
making a return met with their hearty disapproval. 
Some one ventured to take them to task, reminding 
them that the two-mile mark had been passed hours 
ago, but was informed that the "two miles" meant 
straight up, "as the crow flies," a bit of informa- 
tion which they had not volunteered at starting. 
More than once, too, the mountain lads seemed un- 
certain of their course, and twice had had to re- 
trace their steps. All this had taken time. When 
the divide was reached, where the county road 



Vacation Days 29 



crossed over, the sun was sinking rapidly. Every 
one was completely exhausted. Worst of all, one 
of the girls had sprained both ankles, and was able 
to walk only with difficulty. 

As the weary group reached the road, hesitating 
which direction to take, two horsemen suddenly 
appeared, traveling across the range. From them 
it was learned that the gold mine "a little farther 
on" was five miles away, and that there was no 
road leading to the mountain's top. At this there 
was no more argument. The whole party was con- 
vinced of the treachery of the guides, and demanded 
to be taken back to camp at once. 

Again a perplexing situation arose. Instead of 
making for the direction in which the camp sup- 
posedly lay, the travelers found themselves obliged 
to start in an almost opposite direction. There 
seemed to be no trail leading down the mountain, 
and the valley had to be circled before any trail 
led toward camp. Needless to say, laughter and 
merriment had long since been forgotten. Visions 
of a supperless night spent in the open grew steadily 
toward realization. Progress was necessarily slow, 
too, on account of the disabled girl, who now re- 
quired assistance in order to walk at all. Finally, 
in hopes of sending back a vehicle of some sort, 
the party divided, Jack remaining with one divi- 
sion, while Sam and the others hurried ahead, and 
were soon lost to sight in the twilight. 

Even in moments of keen distress, a person has 
the consciousness often, to observe details. So to 
more than one individual who made the ascent of 



30 Vacation Days 



the Twin Sisters, although frightened and weary, 
there came a vivid impression on the return trip 
which will not soon pass away. The sun had set, 
and in the woods darkness was thickening momen- 
tarily; but the western sky was livid yet with fire. 
Against that flaming sunset, far out in the open 
country, Mt. Steptoe rose distinct, in sharp out- 
line, a blue-black pyramid in a burning sea. To 
this day it remains as vivid to the imagination as on 
the night when it was first seen. It is chronicled 
among the records of the camp as one of the most 
inspiring sights witnessed during the entire fort- 
night. 

Meanwhile darkness came, and a night without 
a moon. The awful silence of the forest grew more 
oppressive moment by moment. Slight noises heard 
within its secret depths were followed by quickened 
heart-beats, and strained silences, while the belated 
wayfarers clung closely together. There was no 
hysterical outbreak on the part of any one, but 
a bravery, however simulated, served to keep up 
courage. The advance party, under the direction 
of Sam, after several hours left the main road for 
a "short cut" down the mountain, losing the trail 
and finding it again, stumbling through ditches 
and falling over stones hidden in the darkness. Even 
the strongest at length felt the strain, and strug- 
gled along mechanically on limbs that threatened 
at any moment to give way. The fear had been 
growing to a certainty, too, that Sam was not sure 
of his bearings. No one spoke a word except to 
give or ask directions. Tension was strained to the 



Vacation Days 3 1 



utmost. Just at the critical moment, the small boy 
of the group began to cry with weariness and fright, 
and there is no telling what might have been the 
end of the tale if the leader had not run against a 
fenced cow corral. It took but a moment to grope 
through the cattle, and enter the yard beyond, past 
a house and barn, and into the main road, and sud- 
denly every one recognized a place not far from 
camp. 

All was well with the advance guard; but how 
about those who had been left far behind in the 
darkness? Who could say in what strange ways 
they might be wandering? A sleepy mountaineer 
was sent back in search of them, while at camp the 
fires were lighted, and preparations made to dis- 
pell all hungriness and chill. 

Suddenly a shout was heard, and the loiterers, 
who had somehow managed to increase their speed, 
tumbled into the firelight. It was eleven o'clock! 

According to mountain calculations, fifteen miles 
had been covered during the afternoon's excursion, 
and much of that was difficult climbing. It was no 
wonder that every one remained about camp the 
next day. In spite of all the discomfort which had 
been undergone, however, no one could really re- 
gret the adventure, for to be lost in a forest has 
a peculiar romantic charm, especially when it is 
safely over. Nevertheless, Sam and Jack were in 
disgrace for some time thereafter. Indeed, they did 
not venture near camp for several days, and then it 
was to make amends for that wild chase up the Twin 
Sisters. 



32 Vacation Days 



THE MOURNFUL CYNIC 

Weep on! Weep on! 

Through the long bitter night shed your tears, 

As you writhe at the thought of your fears; 

But no comfort will come to the sore-aching heart, 

Through its sorrow set from the world apart. 

Weep on! Weep on! 
In agony wring the tears from your eyes 
Through the long bitter night, till it dies ; 
But know, O man, death's a phantom, elusive, 
To all who, wailing, pursue it. 

Dust and ashes! 

Dust and ashes! 

Where I thought roses would never fade. 

Ah! Woe the day, 

And woe is me, 

For I fed on a phantasy's shade. 



Vacation Days 33 



REMARKS ON NOVELTY 

This is a very progressive age. Never before 
in the history of the world, has growth been so 
rapid and so apparent as in the twentieth century. 
If you measure one day with another, you can al- 
most mark this growth. The fact that such con- 
ditions exist, is considered by some as grounds for 
self-complacency, by others as reason for alarm. 
Deep and weighty discussions have arisen conse- 
quently, with regard to the prevailing evils, and 
their remedies, or, on the other hand, attempted 
justifications of these so-called evils. This treatise, 
however, has nothing to do with such profound rea- 
soning, but concerns itself rather, with a superfi- 
cial characteristic of the age, the love for novelty. 

We have said that this is an age of extremely 
rapid growth. It follows, then, that innovations 
are introduced at a greater rate of increase than 
in previous years. The terms "up to date," and 
"modern," can be applied only to conveniences in- 
vented within the last year, or at most, within the 
last five years. Things are considered "old fash- 
ioned" which are outside either of these limits, and 
what our fathers called "old fashioned" is to us 
"antiquated." The demand for something new is 
found in every branch of modern activity. Musi- 
cians, for instance, have become reluctant to play 
in public the old masterpieces, because these may 
have been heard before. In short, we have broken 
away as completely as possible, from old customs 



34 Vacation Days 



and habits. We have nothing in common any more, 
with the "One Hoss Shay," "The Deserted Vil- 
lage," or a "Twice Told Tale." 

As may be inferred, the novelty fad, if we may 
call it such, is coming to have a dominating in- 
fluence upon literature. This field serves as one of 
the best examples of the new tendency. It is only 
to be expected that in harmony with all these other 
new surroundings we should demand a change of 
literature. This is the reason for the increasingly 
large sales of the popular magazines, and also for 
the decrease in the sale of classical works. The 
mere fact that a book is described as resembling 
the classic is enough to scare away the average 
reader. It is a compliment no longer, popularly 
speaking, to be referred to as familiar with Horace, 
Dante, or Shakespeare. There has come to be writ- 
ten, therefore, a sort of literature which satisfies 
the demand of the day, but is discarded on the mor- 
row for something still more recent. The material 
for this kind of writing seems, naturally, to be run- 
ning a little short. It has not proved possible, so 
far, to do away entirely with the ancient settings 
of life. Thus, in the beginning of the year, au- 
thors still find it necessary to fall back upon the 
worn-out theme of spring. It is noticeable, how- 
ever, that in such cases the subject is concealed as 
skilfully as may be by a novelty in the treatment 
of it. It is really a wonder that we are not ashamed 
of the season itself, if indeed, we are not. All 
this straining after the unusual has come to be re- 
flected in the style and subject matter of writers, 



Vacation Days 35 



and much talent has been diverted from its nat- 
ural mode of expression to an affected, and often 
ludicrous one. 

The foregoing facts claim our attention. Per- 
haps we have been looking at conditions sometimes 
through a magnifying glass. At least, we must not 
confuse novelty and originality. True originality 
is ever to be praised. Nevertheless, even while grant- 
ing this we maintain that there is a decided ten- 
dency among us to discard too hastily the ideas 
of the past, and to cling only to the new. This 
characteristic of the age will, we hope, shortly pass 
away. Let us prophesy, in conclusion, that at some 
not far distant time, a new novelty shall find favor, 
the noveky of the old. 



36 Vacation Days 



TWO DREAMS 

I slept and dreamed. 

Across the twilight heavens low, 

A sudden field of emerald gleamed, 

With rays of gold shot through and seamed. 

Anon the blended radiance spreads, 

Soft and faint as cloud forms fade, 

Till all the fields of darkness glow, 

And the way whereon trie dreamer treads. 

Swiftly the glory dimmed and sped, 

I woke and found the vision fled. 

I lived and dreamed, 

And looked into the morrow's years. 

A vision of bright hopes there seemed, 

On which a sun eternal beamed; 

A panorama stretching wide, 

Of flowered paths and meadows fair, 

That to the purpled mountain nears. 

There my soul longs to abide, 

Longs to climb those rugged walls. 

In pain I woke; yet still that vision calls. 



Vacation Days 37 



THE PARTING 

If I did not love you, 
As I love you, love, 

What then? 

Gleaming lights of the summer sky, 

Fathomless blue of the heavens high, 

Breeze from the hills with lingering sigh, 

Reveal ! 

Love, hear the call I send. 
If I love you not, 

Then hear! 
Neither the depth of ocean's tide, 
The rugged mount, nor the desert wide, 
Shall prevail to draw you from my side, 

Through life. 

But since I love you, 
As I love you, love, 

Hear me! 
Not the tempest's dismay, when the thunder appals, 
Nor loneliness' sting, when the bleak even falls, 
Shall ever restrain when thy vision calls. 

Farewell ! 



38 Vacation Days 



LAST NIGHT AND THIS MORNING 

A vision came into my life, 
Its brightness made my lot seem fair. 
It fled away 'mid storms and strife; 
Now all seems dead and bare. 

I woke this morn in bitter mood ; 
I saw the sunrise and its show reviled. 
But now life laughs, and life seems good, 
For you passed by and smiled. 



Vacation Days 39 



MEMORIES 

A dull gray sky is o'er me as I write; 
A smoky haze pervades the evening air. 
I am alone; and all about is quiet. 

'Tis the night when we used to meet. 
Are you thinking, I wonder, as I am, 
Of those moments at once sad and sweet? 

Sad, because of the future's sure claim; 
But, sweet, I hold, as life's dearest treasure; 
And I bless thee now, as I murmur thy name. 

There are times when the dread clouds of doubt 

descend, 
And whisper dark fears to my trembling soul, 
As though what once was, is ever at end. 

But just now, like a balm to my yearning heart, 
Methought the still even stirred, and whispered, 
"Ye art still friends, though far apart." 



4-0 . Vacation Days 



ROMAN LITERATURE: AN APPRECIA- 
TION 



The belief is current that Latin is a term ex- 
pressive of all that is dry and uninteresting in lit- 
erature. This mistaken notion is the result of an 
ignorance of the literature, or at least of a very 
slight acquaintance with it; for a more thorough 
study shows us that the literary productions of the 
Latins are worthy of comparison even with some 
of the best of our English literature. It is not 
necessary at this place to deal with the objections 
to a study of Latin offered by the opponents of 
culture. The purpose of this discussion is to re- 
veal the beauty and the worth of Latin literature. 

The writings of the Romans were very exten- 
sive, and practically every phase of literature known 
at the present time was touched upon by this an- 
cient people. Jurisprudence, agriculture, astron- 
omy, archeology, philosophy, mathematics, geog- 
raphy and history, were the chief scientific subjects, 
while in prose also were written letters and ora- 
tions. Dramas, including both tragedy and com- 
edy, epigrams, satire, and lyrics, were written in 
poetic form. Some of these subjects are of interest 
from an archeological point of view only. Those, 
therefore, which are of interest chiefly from a lit- 
erary viewpoint, only, will be taken into considera- 
tion. There are numerous authors whose works 



Vacation Days 41 



are of considerable literary value, but, obviously, 
these cannot all be discussed. A few extracts from 
the most representative works will give one a very 
good idea of Latin literature as a whole. 

II 

We have said that much of Latin literature has 
only scientific value. Some of it, however, although 
primarily didactic, is of interest also to the student 
of literature. A good example is this quaint pas- 
sage from an early work on agriculture, wherein 
the duties of the farmer's wife are enumerated : 

"The farmer should see to it that his wife per- 
forms the following duties, and conforms to these 
rules. First of all, she should respect her hus- 
band. She should have as little intercourse as 
possible with the neighbor women, and should 
never entertain callers. Let her not go out to 
dine; she must not be a gad-about. It is not for 
her to practice religious observances, for the mas- 
ter does this for the whole household. See to it 
that she is neat and keeps the house in the same 
condition. Every day she should take care that 
the hearth is swept before she goes to bed. It is 
the duty of the housewife to see to it that there 
is food for every one. For this purpose, she 
should have plenty of chickens and eggs, and every 
year she should prepare dried pears, raisins, flour 
and all kinds of preserves." 

A more interesting subject, at least a more mod- 
ern one, is found in the field of philosophy. Some 



42 Vacation Days 



of the books on this subject rank high in compari- 
son with the Greek philosophy, which was really 
the instigator of the Roman. Chief among these 
productions are the meditations of Marcus Aurelius, 
with which every one is familiar. Another remark- 
able philosophical treatise is Cicero's dissertation on 
old age, from which the following quotation is 
taken : 

"All the other stages of a man's life have been 
described, but the last act is passed over in silence 
by the idle poet. Nevertheless, it is necessary 
that there should be something final, just as the 
fruit of the tree and the produce of the earth 
has in its time the withering away, and the fall- 
ing off. This is a fact which must be received 
calmly by the wise; for how does resisting nature 
differ from warring with the gods, as did the 
giants of old?" 

Due to the fact that Rome was chiefly political 
in its interests, public speaking was extremely pop- 
ular. An impressive and rhetorical form of lan- 
guage was cultivated, consequently, its influence 
upon literature being evident in the speeches and 
orations which have come down to us. The ex- 
amples of this style are numerous, popular examples 
being the Ciceronian and Catilinarian speeches, ex- 
amples too well known to need discussion here. The 
speeches of Brutus and Antony, as Shakespeare has 
imagined them, also give a very good idea of the 
usual type of the oration. 

A class of prose which is primarily of literary 



Vacation Days 43 



value is well illustrated in Pliny's letters. These 
letters deal with every subject of Roman life, from 
ghost stories to a description of his Tuscan villa, 
and a eulogy of his wife's virtues. Of particular 
interest to the reader is his description of the erup- 
tion of Vesuvius at the time of Pompeii's destruc- 
tion; a vivid record told by an eyewitness. It is 
difficult to confine one's self to but one extract from 
Pliny's letters, but lack of space requires it. Here 
is a little note which the author wrote to a friend, 
while each was away on a vacation: 

"All is well with me, since it is the same with 
you. You have your wife with you, I have my 
son. You will be delighting in the sea, the foun- 
tains, the verdure of the trees and fields, in your 
most charming villa. For I do not doubt that it 
is charming, indeed, where you may consider your- 
self luckier than the luckiest. I am hunting and 
studying here in Tuscany, occupations which I 
alternate with each other, or do at the same time; 
and so far I have not been able to decide which 
is hardest to do, to bag something, or to write an 
article. Farewell." 

in 

The instances cited above will give an idea of 
the scope and the nature of the Roman prose writ- 
ings which are particularly noticeable for their lit- 
erary value. The Latin language was especially 
suited to this form of writing, in which great pro- 
ficiency was attained, since the purpose was pri- 



44 Vacation Days 



marily precision, rather than beauty of expression. 
As may be inferred, such a style would hardly be 
suitable for poetry, and consequently we find that 
this form of literature was subordinated until 
the time of contact with the Greeks, when flexibil- 
ity and grace were introduced into the language. 
After this period, poetry rose rapidly in impor- 
tance and in popularity among the Romans, the 
productions of the greatest poets being works of art 
which have stood the test of time through all the 
centuries. Latin poetry, with some exceptions, has 
little of the musical quality which one finds in the 
German or in English poetry. It has, however, a 
grace and smoothness of motion, a quality which 
is accentuated by a considerable variety of metres. 
Whatever limitations there may be in the form of 
Latin poetry, finally, cannot be applied to the con- 
text; for as the following discussion will illustrate, 
the imagery and beauty of thought has in many 
instances seldom been excelled. 

IV 

One of the earliest forms of Latin poetry was 
the drama, a form which was cultivated to some 
extent, as long as the empire lasted. The comedy, 
especially, was widely presented, although adapta- 
tions of Greek tragedies were written also. The 
Roman dramas used stereotyped subjects, certain type 
forms always appearing. It exaggerated that prac- 
tice of puns and word play for which Shakespeare 
is famous, and in fact this is its chief characteristic. 
Such being the case, it is obvious that a translation 



Vacation Days 45 



could rarely convey the idea intended, an observa- 
tion which applies to all translations of poetry. A 
translation seldom does justice to the original. 

The satire and the epigram were favorite forms 
of verse with the Romans, since it enabled them 
to express that wit and humor which belonged to 
them particularly. The following, as some one has 
translated it, is an example of the satire, which goes 
to show that fame is not always pleasant for the 
poet: 

"One day it chanced I took a stroll along the 
Sacred Way, as is my wont, conning o'er some 
trifling ode, and all absorbed in that. A man 
runs up to me, unknown to me except by name, 
and seizing my hand he says, 'How are you, dear- 
est friend in all the world?' 'Pretty well just 
now,' I say, 'and always at your service.' When 
he kept following me, before he could begin, I 
said, 'I can't do more for you, now, can I ?' 

"But he replies, 'You surely know me, I'm a 
literary man.' Painfully eager to get off, I some- 
times walked more quickly; again I stopped and 
whispered to my slave, while to my very ankle- 
bones the sweat flowed down. 

"When I made no reply to all his chatter, he 
says, 'You're very anxious to be off, I've seen that 
long ago; but it's no use; I'll stick to you right 
on.' 

"I droop my ears, like an impatient ass when 
on his back he feels too great a load. Finally I 
interrupt him with, 'Have you a mother, have you 



46 Vacation Days 



friends who wish you well?' 

"'I haven't one; I've laid them all to rest.' 
"'Happy they! Now I am left; dispatch me 
too ; for a sad fate awaits me, which an old Sabel- 
lian hag with shake of her divining urn, foretold 
me in boyhood; him nor poison dread, nor cough, 
nor sword will carry off, nor pleurisy, nor crip- 
ping gout; some day a chatterbox will be his 
death.' 

"At length, after all attempts to rid himself of 
the fellow proved of no avail, a plaintiff appeared, 
and hurried the troublesome fellow to court. 
'Then,' says the poet, 'thanks to Apollo, I got 
off.' " 

The epic poem in its highest form is represented 
in Virgil's ^Eneid, the story of the hero's wander- 
ings from the fall of Troy to the founding of 
Rome. It is a tale which abounds in vivid descrip- 
tions, and is of absorbing interest. It is too well 
known to be discussed here. 

The last form of Latin poetry which we have to 
consider is the lyric. In this field is found the 
best and most beautiful of Latin thought and ex- 
pression. In recognition of its importance, we are 
possibly justified in illustrating it at some length 
by selections from the two greatest lyric poets, Hor- 
ace and Catullus. 

Of the lighter lyrical poets, Catullus takes first 
place. Sometimes he gives expression to deep 
thought, but rarely. He was of an impetuous na- 
ture and deals with trifling matters of every day 



Vacation Days 47 



life, now in sympathy, now in bitter sarcasm. He 
is chiefly famous for his love songs, which often re- 
semble those of the English Cavalier poets. His 
love of nature and his imagination are shown in 
lines like these: 

"The woods of Cytoris, where the leaves speak 
in whispers." 

"The oak flings her arms aloft, and drops of 
sweat stand on the bark of pine." 

"At first, as the waves move in slow procession 
at the command of the lenient breath of morning, 
they ring muffled chimes of laughter; but when 
the gale freshens, they crowd faster and faster, 
and fling back the splendor as they float far away 
in front of the crimsoning day." 

These verses illustrate the lighter vein in which 
Catullus usually writes: 

"She says she would never love any but me, 
Not even if Jupiter himself sought her out. 

So she says; but what a woman says to her lover, 
Is to be written on the wind, and the running 
water." 

"I hate and I love. Wherefore do you ask? 
I know not why it is. I only know I am tortured 
thereby." 

One must go to Horace for a portrayal of the 
deeper sentiments. It is not altogether what is ex- 
pressed, however, as much as the atmosphere which 
pervades his odes, which gives this effect. Horace 



48 Vacation Days 



appeals to the modern reader more, perhaps, than 
any other Latin writer. He combines with Catul- 
lus' appreciation of beauty an atmosphere which can 
come only from greatness of mind, and nobility of 
character. Three selections from his odes must 
suffice to illustrate his style. 

"The man upright in life, and free from guilt, 
Needs not the protecting javelin, nor the bow, 
Neither the quiver, rilled with poisoned darts, 

My friend Aristius; 
Whether he travels through Syrtian heat, 
Or pushes his way to dreaded Caucasus, 
Or where fabled Hydaspes wends its course, 

He is safe." 

"Cold winter is breaking up at the welcome 

change of spring, 
The rollers drag down the dry boats to the sea; 
Now neither the herd delights in the stall, nor 

the ploughman in his hearth, 
Nor are the meadows whitened with frost. 

"Now Cytherian Venus leads forth her chorus in 

the light of the moon, 
And the comely graces join hands with the 

nymphs, 
And beat the ground with rhythmic tread, while 

ponderous Vulcan 
Eagerly visits his accustomed haunts." 

"See how lofty Soractus stands dazzling white in 

the snow. 
The forests now bend low under their snowy 

burden, 



Vacation Days 49 



And struggle no longer against it, 
While the rivers are held by the ice. 

"Drive away the cold; pile up the wood on the 
hearth, 

And replenish it bountifully still. But more gen- 
erously, 

O Thaliarchus, draw me unmixed wine from the 
flagon, 

My four year old Sabine wine. 

"Leave all else to the gods, who, one moment, 
Scatter o'er the violent waves the warring winds, 
The next, neither the cypress nor the old moun- 
tain oak, 
So much as stir in the breeze." 



It is evident that in this short paper a subject of 
so great scope can be little more than touched upon. 
Nothing short of a study of the Latin literature 
itself can give one an adequate idea of its nature. 
The purpose of this discussion, however, is merely 
to stimulate an interest in Latin as literature, and 
no attempt has been made to give a comprehensive 
and detailed account of it. The study of Latin, as 
many have said, may be out of place in certain 
courses of education ; but if it is true that we should 
know the best that has been thought and said in 
the world, then it is hoped that these pages have 
sustained the claims of Latin literature as worthy 
of study. 



50 Vacation Days 



INSPIRED BY— YOU 

To the distilled sweetness of dawn's first hour 
To the fragrance of clover beneath the sun's rays, 
To the evening silence, and its shadowy power, 
The bright-eyed warbler, of golden coat, 
As he soars through the blue on wing afloat, 
Or, hidden from sight in the tangled green, 
Pours forth his joy to the world unseen, 
Owes his deep rapture, his soul's harmony, 
As I owe mine, — what I have, — to thee, 
My friend. 



Vacation Days $1 



PICTURES 

A wild rose bush grew unheeded beside a gar- 
den wall, strewing the walk with perfumed petals 
to cheer the passersby; but many hastened by un- 
observant. There came that way one morning 
an old man of uncertain step and silvery hair. A 
sudden light awoke in his dim eyes as they fell 
upon the blooming bush. Unconscious of the crowd, 
he stood musing, and if one might have shared his 
vision, there would have been glimpses of a coun- 
try lane and a fragrant rose hedge, and a laughing 
face among the flowers. There might have been 
seen, too, the passage of years, but always the 
roses and the face. Then suddenly a gloom descends, 
and when it passes away, the flowers are gay as 
ever, but no laughter sounds from among them, and 
the merry face has vanished. Somewhere a clock 
strikes an hour, and the old man recalls his wan- 
dering mind with a start. Still as if in a dream 
he reaches for a half blown bud, and pins it gently 
to his coat. A crowd of noisy schoolboys hurries 
by, followed by other crowds, and when the walk 
is again cleared there is nothing to be seen except 
a wild rose bush drooping over the garden wall. 

One frosty moonlight night as a traveler passed 
through a strange country, he came upon a little 
lake nestled closely between the hills, like a gem in 
its setting. Black and shining lay its ice-covered 
surface, with scarcely a ripple in it, for the wind 



52 Vacation Days 



seldom troubled the waters there. At intervals all 
around grew thick clumps of scrub willow, now 
stiff and bare. Here and there along the banks, a 
charred and blackened stump told mutely the story 
of a crackling bonfire piercing the darkness in a 
stream of light across the ice, past which flashed for 
a moment the gliding forms of merry skaters, only 
to disappear into the blackness beyond. Only the 
rattling of the frozen branches disturbed the wintry 
night. Around lay the hills, white and still. Once a 
belated night bird flew rapidly past, but even as the 
wayfarer gazed after it, a cloud passed over the moon. 

A prospector, with his inevitable following of 
pack animals comes slowly up the bare mountain 
path, winding in and out among the boulders which 
confront him everywhere. A stifling cloud of gray 
dust ascends gradually with the group, or settles 
harmlessly over the barren earth; for not a living 
plant relieves the monotony of the landscape, unless 
one might mention a few scrawny bushes striving to 
hold their own in the struggle for existence. Far 
away across the canon, a great brick-red mountain 
rears its isolated peak, adding its testimony to the 
aridness of the region. Down in the gorge, hun- 
dreds of feet below, a tiny stream winds along, 
whose grassy borders only serve to heighten the 
dearth around. Everywhere, on the rocks, or on 
the bushes, lies a thick coat of dust; and now the 
air is thickening again at the horseman's approach, 
while the sun beats down unmercifully from a cloud- 
less sky. 



Vacation Days 53 



TO THE GALLANT OARSMAN 

Sun at its brightest, 
Heart at its lightest, 
Ebb at the highest, 

Saturday here! 
Lure of the wild-wood, 
Spice of the dead-wood, 
Describe if one could, 

Skies all clear. 

Water a-ripple, silver blue, 
Ferry crossed, Newport adieu. 
Boy Scouts' Isle ahead of us too. 

On our way! 
Padlock forced and boat house opened, 
A schoolma'am as ballast at either end; 
Water is deep, but the Fates defend. 

Shove away! 

Perilous passage safely o'er, 
Newer perils await on shore. 
Mountains ahead and steep cliffs lower; 

Can we ascend? 
Breaking through brush and tangled fern, 
Baffled and beaten at every turn, 
We stand at length on the summit stern; 

Journey at end. 



54 Vacation Days 



Evening closing, 
Twilight approaching, 
Daylight is waning 

At last. 
Eager boat waiting and trusty rower, 
Would that his task were never o'er! 
City in sight, and home once more — 

Holiday past! 



Vacation Days 55 



THE COURSE OF THE YEARS 

To Thee, who didst our forms invent, 
And breathed into our souls the life 
That gave us power 'gainst Thee to strive, 
And for thy mercies give lament, 
I sing my solitary lay. 

When first the child whom Thou hadst made 

Awoke and viewed in ecstasy 

The marvels of his legacy, 

The creatures who his will obeyed, 

Thou wert to him a Friend. 

But soon the tempter tried his art, 
And banished joy and happy ease; 
Came weary care, and toil's increase; 
Earth and heaven grew far apart, 
And Thou a distant God. 

Long years passed by since first man fell, 
Long years of sorrow, yet more sin; 
Then came the sinless Christ divine, 
Heaven's flaming messenger, to tell 
That God forgives and loves. 

Again, to whom the Spirit will, 
Earth blooms a paradise of love, 
Reflected down from that above, 
Which gleams when earthly cares are still, 
Yet dim and seen afar. 



56 Vacation Days 



So teach us, Thou, the way to learn, 
Thy cause to cherish and maintain, 
The lofty mark again attain ; 
Then erring mankind shall return, 
With Thou once more a Friend. 



Vacation Days 57 



A WAYSIDE INCIDENT 

It was an ideal day in warm midsummer. The 
verdure of the earth was at its greenest, the holly- 
hocks and larkspur nodded in the cooling breeze, 
in blossom every one, while the air was redolent 
with the dying fragrance of the locusts. Overhead 
huge billows of clouds rolled lazily along, as if to a 
summer-long rest. Not a sound could be heard, 
save the trickling of a fountain hidden somewhere 
behind the shrubbery, or, if it did not escape notice, 
the buzz and hum of the bees, who alone of all 
living things had no time for idleness. 

Presently a maiden came walking slowly along 
the pathway. She was a beautiful maiden, clad all 
in white, with face and hair to make any artist 
snatch his brush in haste. The embodiment of all 
grace and sweetness seemed for a moment to have 
loitered on its way, a woodland sprite, strayed from 
her native haunts, or perhaps a water nymph, at- 
tracted by the gurgling water-font. 

Slowly the maiden took her away, now and then 
stooping to inhale the fragrance of a dewy rose, and 
ever and anon stopping alert, at the trill of a bird 
from the tree-top ; but most of all, her eyes wan- 
dered afar, dreamily, into the depths of the deep 
blue sky, or followed idly the course of its lofty air 
craft. For the girl was a dreamer, and she sought 
a noble prince, a dazzling youth, in rich attire, who 
should bow low before her, offering his heart. Him 
she sought, and thus far sought in vain. 



58 Vacation Days 



At a turn in the way stood a huge locust, with 
flower-clusters more fragrant than the rest. Nearby 
on the bank sat a handsome youth — and he was a 
prince — absently plucking daisies. For he, too, 
dreamed, and he saw in his dream a fair vision with 
face like the morning, clad in shimmering white. 

On a sudden, from around the shrubbery, ap- 
peared the maiden, and a light air was upon her 
lips. With a start, the youth sprang before her with 
uncovered head, his heart in his eyes. But the maiden 
drew aside her draperies delicately, and passed on; 
for she said to herself, "He is only a gardener." 

The youth slowly turned, and dully picked up his 
spade; and the scent of the locust seemed suddenly 
to stifle him with its perfume. But the maiden 
tripped on, and followed still the vision far ahead, 
oh, very far ahead. 



Vacation Days 59 



HELEN 

The daylight wanes and darkness falls, 
Forgetful sleep his summons calls; 
But through the night and as I wake, 
Throbs ever "Helen" in my heart, 
And "Helen, Helen" through my brain. 

The long dim aisles are ghostly still, 
The dim ray slants through holy pane; 
And I would that one wert by my side, 
And hand in hand forevermore, 
Together bow in reverence here. 

Oh, wild, bleak wind of wintry chill, 

Oh, falling flakes that sheddeth rest; 

Wilt purge the heart and cover soft the wound? 

Ah! grant me surer cure, a heavenly balm; 

But what 't may be, I leave to guess. 



60 Vacation Days 



LETHE 

On through the thickets in frenzied haste. 
What though the brambles mangle and tear? 
Over the sands of the sun-scorched waste 
Though the desert beast prowl from his lair. 
On, ever on, to the valley of Lethe! 

Up the steep cliff in the deadly night, 

The jagged rocks bathed with their bloody toll; 

Close by the wolf roams abroad in his might — 

What matter? 'Tis there lies the goal. 

Press on, ever on, to the blissful Lethe. 

Crushed and bleeding and mangled and torn, 
Every step costs a smothered scream; 
But the mountains are crossed and the perils borne, 
And, there at hand winds the deep dark stream, 
See! 'Tis the river Lethe. 

The eager hand plunges deep in the flood, 
The parched lips bend to taste, when sudden 
I fling down the balm in its own vile mud, 
Turn and flee to the woe whence I came unbidden, 
Fleeing, fleeing, the cursed Lethe! 



Vacation Days 6 1 



AN AUTUMN FANCY 

O, for a brief sweet autumn afternoon, 

In girlhood's beatific realm of dreams, 

An hour from memory's cherished garden plucked,- 

Flowers that fade and die, alas, too soon. 

From far a gleam appears, 

A breeze that through the years 
Blows back the fragrance of the country leas, 

And thoughts of youth recall, 

Past scenes, but most of all, 
A girl a-dreaming midst the laden apple trees. 



Concealed by drooping limbs that sway and creak, 
Thick hung with red and juicy Jonathans, 
Or through the dusky green the amber tint 
Of Jeffries, pied with many a crimson streak; 

With Wagner's ruddy cheek, 

And Pippins plump and sleek, 
The mellow "punkies" bursting just o'erhead, 

While hung a-poised on high, 

The Maiden Blush so shy, 
Persuades that hither startled Grecian Daphne fled. 

There, pillowed on the tawny, sun-warmed mold, 
In utter solitude, with none to spy, 
The cloud be-sprinkled sky spread high above, 
Below, the fields touched now with gaudy gold; 

And on the air no sound, 

To break the silence 'round, 



62 Vacation Days 



Save far away the house dog's bark at home, 
Or the noise a windfall makes, 
When the weighted fruit tree shakes, 

And it falls with a "plunk" in the soft and yielding 
loam. 

Thus fast secure from household's busy thrift, 
The troublous care floats off on airy wings, 
And fancies fond the willing mind possess; 
When sudden shadows darkly falling, lift 

The gaze up through the blue 

Of the sky's translucent hue, 
Surprised to find the sun already low; 

O, thus to dream away 

One hazy autumn day, 
Amid the laden orchard trees of long ago! 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724) 779-2111 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

IIIIIIIIIIIL M 

018 603 445 4 W\ 



